A Handful of Dust
by Elleirabird
Summary: A boy who can't let go. A girl with a dark secret. And an underground project called PANEM...the Underland's been discovered, and Gregor's the only one who knows. But now the enemy is much more cunning, and much more powerful. But he has a problem: there's no prophecy. No clues. The fate of the Underland and Manhattan alike hangs in the balance...and if he fails, both will fall.
1. Prologue

**A HANDFUL OF DUST  
**By Elleirabird

* * *

**Disclaimer:** All characters, places, and concepts from either _The Underland Chronicles_ or _The Hunger Games_ series are completely owned by Suzanne Collins. This work, however, as well as the character of Ari and all other original characters and concepts, are owned by myself, Ari/Elleirabird, also previously known as Seraphania. **Please do not redistribute in any way. Thanks!**

* * *

**Author's Note: **This story used to be called "Gregor and the Prophecy of Flight;" I changed the title because there's no longer a prophecy in the story, so it didn't fit. Sorry for any confusion! Much thanks.

* * *

_What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow  
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,_  
_You cannot say, or guess, for you know only_  
_A heap of broken images, where the sun beats..._  
_And i will show you something different from either_  
_Your shadow at morning striding behind you_  
_Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;_  
**_I will show you fear in a handful of dust._**

T.S. Eliot, _The Wasteland_

* * *

**PROLOGUE:**

To the naïve and ignorant, the newcomers, and those who decidedly turned a blind eye, there was nothing out of the ordinary to be found. But beneath the bones of the city, down past the brownstones, far below the cavernous sewers that traced the city's anatomy, was a SSC was a city within the city, a secret wrapped beneath.

A dangerous secret.

The SSC was invisible to the public of Manhattan, for the most part. Like most companies and government-funded agencies, they had the open area, available for anyone to come in and learn about what they were doing, make them look beneficial and friendly to the eyes of the public. But, like _all _government buildings, the actual laboratory was beneath the earth, cleverly concealed beneath layers of dirt and concrete and fragments of history.

The SSC was simply better concealed than the rest.

On one of the deepest levels of the subterranean facility, a group of researchers stood huddled around a monitor. They said nothing, but their body language was more than apparent; they all leaned towards the screen like a pack of sharp-eyed wolves, their hands shaking as they adjusted their glasses or smoothed down their uniforms.

One of the scientists, a slim older man with dark eyes and long, supple fingers adjusted one of the angles of the image of what they were watching.

"Look at that," he said softly, an edge of a smile threatening to break through on his calm demeanor.

The other men and women held their breath.

"It's beautiful," one of them whispered.

A strange creature was captured on the machine's monitor. It looked uncannily similar to a bat, with the same long ears and bony, leathery wings, but there was something otherworldly about it as it soared across the dark background. Judging from the camera's distance, it had to be, what - ten feet, fifteen feet long? The wingspan was more than twenty feet across.

It was only when one looked closely that the figure upon its back could be noticed.

"I think we're ready," said the first man, the older man. He shot a look at one of the younger women. "Get me on the line. We need to meet with the superiors."

With one more lingering, thirsty glance at the screen - the image of bat and rider frozen upon it still - he nodded in certainty, fingers tapping against each other like the echo of a beaten drum.

"It's time. Project PANEM will commence."


	2. Falling

**A HANDFUL OF DUST  
**By Elleirabird

* * *

**Disclaimer:** All characters, places, and concepts from either _The Underland Chronicles_ or _The Hunger Games_ series are completely owned by Suzanne Collins. This work, however, as well as the character of Ari and all other original characters and concepts, are owned by myself, Ari/Elleirabird, also previously known as Seraphania. **Please do not redistribute in any way. Thanks!**

* * *

**Author's Note: **This story used to be called "Gregor and the Prophecy of Flight;" I changed the title because there's no longer a prophecy in the story, so it didn't fit. Sorry for any confusion! Much thanks.

* * *

**PART ONE: SECRETS  
****CHAPTER ONE: FALLING**

_The dream started like it always did. Innocent. Beautiful._

_Treacherous._

_He was flying, soaring, above an ink-rushed sea of shadows. The darkness couldn't be penetrated, and normally that would have scared him, but there was no fear. Just joy, the pure, unadulterated sense of flight. The rush of currents around his air as he and his bond dove downwards, wings tucked in, muscles taut with excitement. They moved as one._

_And then things changed. The darkness would shift, changing from their safe-haven to a world of nightmares. If darkness gained form it did so here, grabbing at them with intangible tendrils, pulling them apart, pushing itself between himself and his only link to light –_

_With a sudden twist and crack he was then falling, plunging down into the darkness._

"Gregor! _Gregor!"_

Gregor awoke with a start, his head jerking upwards. Something inside him clicked even before his eyes opened; his hands flew out and grabbed whoever had touched him, pushing them away. He jumped up, eyes open and taking in his surroundings. He was shaking like a wild animal.

"Gregor!"

Old Mrs. Costello stared oddly at him. She was an elderly woman with frail bones and a penchant for flowered dresses – in other words, the absolute picture of safety. It did nothing to calm Gregor down, at least for another few moments. His breath came in short, almost painful gasps. His hands, clenched into fists, shook uncontrollably. Sweat beaded his forehead.

_Calm down, you have to calm down…_

"Gregor, are you alright?"

The question helped Gregor focus a little. He swallowed. "Yeah," he muttered, voice rough. It sounded more like a growl. "Sorry."

_Calm down. Just a nightmare._

He realized that the entire eighth-grade science class was staring at him with various degrees of curiosity, suspicion, and amusement. Only Larry, who Gregor caught shaking his head in his peripheral vision, looked truly worried. Well, him and Mrs. Costello.

_Just a nightmare…_

Still shaking, Gregor reached down and picked up his chair, which had fallen over when he'd woken up. It felt eerily light.

"Sorry," he repeated, clearing his throat. "I – dozed off."

Mrs. Costello peered over her spectacles to give him a stern look. "One more time and I'll have to send you to the office. Understand?"

He took a seat. "Yeah. My bad."

The teacher opened her mouth to continue the lesson (what were they studying, again? Astronomy, biology, electricity? Gregor wasn't sure.) but the bell interrupted her with its jarring ring, which served to only put Gregor more on edge. He felt his muscles instinctively tense up and had to fight to pretend that nothing was wrong.

"Read chapter fifteen," Costello called over the din of scraping chairs and heavy books slamming against each other. Gregor grabbed his backpack and slung it over one shoulder, halfheartedly pushing his way into the crowd. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed some of the other kids giving him wary looks.

"Hey, Gregor! Gregor! Wait up!"

Larry caught up to him before Gregor could do anything about it. He looked different than Gregor remembered, like he had filled out, gotten some sun. Unlike Gregor.

"Are you okay?" Larry asked.

"Fine." Gregor avoided eye contact and tried unsuccessfully to move ahead.

Larry gave him a shrewd look that Gregor pretended to ignore. "You had a nightmare, didn't you?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"You said something," Larry continued, evidently refusing to give up. "Actually, you screamed or something. I dunno. It was freaky – "  
"_I don't want to talk about it_," Gregor snapped. Larry, and a few other of his classmates, froze, and Gregor realized that he had been shouting. He ran a hand through his shaggy hair and sighed.

"Sorry," he said, but Larry only turned around to give him one last glare before disappearing into the masses. Without meeting anyone's gaze, Gregor awkwardly navigated down the crowded hallway until he was almost at the front door of the school. It felt like the only words he was saying these days were _I'm sorry_, or something similar. Sorry for disrupting class again. Sorry for getting into a fight again. Sorry for saying the wrong thing – again. Sorry…

It didn't help that the nightmares were starting up again, either. Mrs. Cormaci had told him that they would slowly ebb away, but they hadn't; in retrospect, they had come back for more. Over the last few weeks, the dreams had only gotten stronger, both in intensity and length. At first, he had only had the falling nightmares, but lately, they had changed, morphed into a completely new terror. Now blood spattered against his dreams like flowing wine, and Gregor watched helplessly as the people he loved were killed by useable enemies that he could not fight. He would wake up, bathed in sweat and panting though it was the heart of winter, his heart thrumming as he would look around for the people that killed the ones he loved.

And when Mrs. Cormaci had asked him about his nightmares, Gregor only replied that they had changed. He refused say anything else.

Eventually the tide of moving feet brought Gregor to the main doors; he blinked as he stepped out into the open air. The frosty January air nipped at his skin. It didn't bother him much.

"Gregor!"

Everyone seemed to be calling his name these days. His first reaction was to tense up and ignore it, but the voice was too familiar – Lizzie. She waded through the sea of kids, which was finally dissipating, and took his hand.

"Hey, Liz," Gregor said, forcing a smile onto his face. "What's up?"

"Nothing," Lizzie replied. Their eyes found each other, and he knew that Lizzie could see through his lies just as much as he could see through hers. Good thing nobody else did.

"Come on," Gregor said. "Let's get him." He could feel her little fingers, even through the gloves, and moved closer to her in an effort to keep her from getting too cold. She was still so _little_, even at ten. It kind of worried him.

Taking the lead, Gregor pushed through the crowd, keeping Lizzie in his wake. He mindlessly shouldered other kids out of the way, until -  
"Hey!"

Their pathway was suddenly blocked as a throng of winter jackets and backpacks moved backwards. "What's going on?" Lizzie cried.

"Dunno," Gregor said, standing on his toes to get a look. For once he was glad he was so tall. "Oh, Liz – it's a fight. Stay with me."

Two kids were circling each other in the middle of the school yard, surrounded by an eager, frightened, bloodthirsty pack of spectators. There weren't any teachers around to do anything about it.

It was ironic beyond belief that Gregor, the so-called Warrior, hated fighting. And doubly ironic that he seemed to be doing more of it than ever. Someone insulted him? He fought. Some kid was mean to Lizzie? Definite fight. Another student was being bullied? He didn't even think about it. It had only been four months since Gregor started school again and he's already had detention nine times, sent to the office three times, and had in-school suspension once.

Yeah, he was turning into a regular rebel.

"Gregor? Can we get out of here?" Lizzie looked freaked out, and Gregor snapped back into reality.

"Yeah," he said.

A roar erupted from the crowd, and Gregor caught another glimpse of the two opponents. His blood froze. It was a guy he'd fought before, called Erik. He towered over Gregor, even, and was a fair bit more muscular. But that didn't matter. What caught his eye was the guy Erik was fighting – well, the girl. God, she was tiny. She was almost as small as Lizzie, and she was cowering against the ground, shaking, terrified. Dark eyes flashed beneath an avalanche of streaked hair.

"Stay here," he ordered Lizzie before angrily pushing through the crowd. Despite his old injuries, despite the nightmares and the depression and the guilt, Gregor felt the instantaneous reaction of a rager.

"What are you doing?" Gregor demanded as he stepped into the open area. Erik and the girl were flying around each other, punching and kicking whenever and wherever they could. Before Gregor could intercept, Erik punched the girl in the gut, and she slumped to the ground.

"Hey! _Hey_!" Gregor grabbed Erik by the collar of his jacket and wrenched him up. "Stop that!"

Erik pushed him off, nearly making Gregor lose his balance. "Get out of my way. This isn't your business."

"You think you're cool, hitting a girl?" Gregor accused.

Erik lunged at him, and Gregor nimbly dodged the attack. Letting his backpack slide to the ground, Gregor closes his eyes, letting the rager sensation surge through him, unchecked. His eyesight focused and sharpened, giving him clear snatches of Erik's weak spots – the belly, the throat, the face, the groin, the backs of the knees and the solar plexus. Blood boiled and rushed through his veins, giving him an insane rush of energy and strength that he normally couldn't achieve.

_Control it,_ he muttered inside his mind, trying to withhold the sudden power that welled up inside of him. _Control it._

Yeah, sure.

The fight was quick and brutal, ending almost as soon as it began. Erik swung at Gregor once more, and this time Gregor responded, whirling around and catching the other boy by the legs, causing him to fall to the ground. Erik landed with a sickening thump, and Gregor couldn't help but wince a little on his behalf. He straightened up, feeling the blood pumping through his body. There was no joy in this. As good as he was at it, Gregor didn't particularly like fighting. Especially like this. He felt like a bully, now.

Shaking it off, he turned his gaze to the victim. The crowd was quiet. "Are you okay?" Gregor called to the girl

"She deserves it," Erik muttered from the asphalt. "She called me a – "

"I called him a sleazy _douchebag_," the girl snapped as she pulled herself up. It was obvious that despite her fighting back, Erik had gotten in a good punch; she was holding her arm tenderly. "Not like you don't deserve it."

"Shut up, you little wh – "

"Keep talking and I'll actually hurt you," Gregor said. The words were out of his mouth before he really thought about it, and the sudden ferocity in his tone was kind of surprising. And kind of frightening. "Come on," he said to the girl, putting a hand on her arm. "I'll – "

"Get away from me!" she hissed, flinching as though Gregor had slapped her. Pushing back her ragged bangs, Gregor saw a glimpse of her eyes.

At first he thought they had been brown, dark brown, like his. But they weren't. They were black. Entirely black. Not just the irises or whatever – every part of her eyes was a deep, flat black. Like a rat's, or a bat's. Like a monster.

And in their distant reflection, Gregor saw himself, a rager, a warrior, staring back.


	3. Paranoid

**A HANDFUL OF DUST  
**By Elleirabird

* * *

**Disclaimer:** All characters, places, and concepts from either _The Underland Chronicles_ or _The Hunger Games_ series are completely owned by Suzanne Collins. This work, however, as well as the character of Ari and all other original characters and concepts, are owned by myself, Ari/Elleirabird, also previously known as Seraphania. **Please do not redistribute in any way. Thanks!**

* * *

**PART ONE: SECRETS  
****CHAPTER TWO: PARANOID**

Ari hated school.

It wasn't the first time the thought had crossed her mind, the sudden and overwhelming mixture of disgust and fear welling up in her chest like an infection. It was rare, in fact, that she didn't come come home without some kind of half-hatched plan of escape or murder forming in her mind.

She toyed with a lock of hair as she loped down the bustling sidewalk, running one hand through her tousled curls. The fingers on her other hand curled into a fist, and she had to bite her lip to keep from whirling around and slamming it into someone's face.

Erik's face rose to mind as she settled for a snarl and kept walking, shoulders hunched. _Idiot_, she thought, not really sure if she meant the guy who had tried to hurt her, or herself. He hadn't stared out wanting to fight her; he was trying to flirt. If grabbing a girl and saying "nice tits" counted as flirting.

_I shouldn't have attacked him. _A low sigh escaped as Ari rubbed her aching hand, fingers massaging the small bones. She'd broken the first rule, the most important rule of her nameless code: _don't get noticed._

She had been good at staying undercover, so far. Got good enough grades to stay out of trouble, but didn't let herself excel in any subject. Didn't show any special talents. She wasn't ugly by any means, but without the added advantage of makeup and fashion-sense that most of the girls in the eleventh grade had, Ari knew she didn't stand out. She had perfected the craft of being innocently, deceivingly mundane.

And now the entire school would be buzzing with her name. Just what she needed.

The doorman opened the glass door for her with a nod and a smile, which she falsely returned. Inside was a spacious, warm lobby, ancient by the standards of the neighbourhood she lived in. She could hear the _thrum-thrum _of her ragged heart pulsing out against the revealed brownstone walls, and returning to her sensitive ears.

Getting home to her apartment, her parents' apartment, was a relief. Ari slammed the front door shut and leaned against the dark wooden panels, feeling bundles of tense muscles that she hadn't even been aware of, release.

All the mutterings and fears she had pushed down on her walk home erupted into her mind. _Idiot, idiot, why did you have to fight back? Should have let him say his cruel remarks and grope at your tits and just kept your head down. _Fragmented images of possible futures bloomed - lying naked on an operating table, exposed under harsh light; rioting crowds pushing down her door and dissecting her with human wrath. Pain and darkness. Terror and blood. She could see how the remainder of her short life would end so clearly that it hurt.

"I'll just have to be more careful," Ari said out loud, pressing her fingers to her temples. "I'll just - oh, _hell_, maybe they'll let me transfer to another school."

She let her bag slide to the floor and headed to her room, slipping off articles of clothing with every step. Socks, coat, scarf, her thick sweater, peeling off the sweat-soaked fabric and letting it fall to the ground like puddles on the gleaming floorboards.

Finally, she unhooked her brace, slipping the metal bands off her ribcage, her shoulders. That she didn't let fall, but instead carefully hung it on the doorknob to her room. Naked from the waist up, she let herself inhale properly for the first time since that morning, stretching out the kinks in her aching shoulders.

A pair of misshaped, feathered wings arced out from her shoulder-blades.


	4. Physiognomy

**A HANDFUL OF DUST  
**By Elleirabird

* * *

**Disclaimer:** All characters, places, and concepts from either _The Underland Chronicles_ or _The Hunger Games_ series are completely owned by Suzanne Collins. This work, however, as well as the character of Ari and all other original characters and concepts, are owned by myself, Ari/Elleirabird, also previously known as Seraphania. **Please do not redistribute in any way. Thanks!**

* * *

**PART ONE: SECRETS  
CHAPTER THREE: PHYSIOGNOMY**

Gregor's mother was waiting by the front door when he and Lizzie finally got home from school.

"Mom, I'm sorry-"

"I just got a call from the secretary at your school," Grace said shortly. She tried to look as though she were angry, but her tight lips and strained eyes betrayed so much more. "Fighting, Gregor? _Again_?"

"Let me explain," he said quickly. "Please."

"I can't keep having this conversation with you," his mother said. Her voice broke.

"Gregor was just trying to help," Lizzie said in a small voice. She was shaking. Out of the three of them, she looked the most upset. "A girl was in trouble. A boy was trying to hurt her. Gregor stopped him."

"I didn't hurt anyone," he told his mother. "But I couldn't just walk away. I'm sorry."

His mom didn't say anything, but her eyes were brimming with tears. She turned quickly away and ducked into the kitchen, where Boots must have been playing. Gregor blew out his breath. Terrible ending to a terrible day.

"Gregor, I'm sorry," Lizzie said, breathing too hard. "I - just thought if Mom knew what had happened - " She stopped talking, chest heaving, tears rolling down her face.

"Oh, Lizzie, Lizzie-izzie," Gregor said, bending down so that they were at eye level. Very carefully, he hugged her, holding her close. "Nobody's angry at you. Not at all. There's no reason to panic."

"I - I - " His little sister slumped against Gregor, and he could feel her shaking again.

He held her for a few minutes, patting her back and crooning silly songs in her ear until she managed to get control of her breathing. When they let go, some of her tears were on his cheek.

"You're making me cry, Liz," Gregor said with only a slightly forced laugh. She giggled. "You have homework?"

"Only a little. It's easy." Lizzie probably should have skipped a grade, but her only friend Jeremiah was in the sixth grade, just like her. So their parents, against the urgings of the teachers, kept her there.

"I'll see if I can get a snack if you can get the white-board, then. Hangman?"

"Okay!"

Lizzie ran off to her room, and Gregor, standing up, lumbered into the kitchen. His mom had her back to him. She was little, too. Too small. Ever since the plague she had a hard time putting on weight. Now Gregor was easily the biggest in the family.

He had grown by leaps and bounds these last months. It was like being out in the sun, up in the air, had triggered his body to finish up what it had started when he was eleven. Now he was almost fourteen, and looked like he was sixteen or seventeen, with his height, his dark hair, all the muscles that had formed from his years of fighting. There was even the beginnings of beard stubble on his jaw.

"I'm really sorry, Mom," he said quietly. Grace turned around. "I wasn't trying to get in trouble. I didn't think."

"Every time that phone rings," she said, "I get terrified. Do you know that? I think it's the police, telling me that you're in jail, or hurt, or..."

"It was just a school fight. Stupid kids. Everything's fine."

"It's not fine," Grace said tersely. "You can't keep doing this, fighting like that. Not at school. That's not how things work. You're not _down there_ anymore, Gregor."

She spat out the words _down there _like it was a curse.

Despite himself, Gregor could feel the old twinge of his rager-sense rise from below the surface. No. No. Calm down.

"D'you want me to just ignore people getting hurt?" Gregor said. "Just pretend like nothing's happening? That's now how you raised me. That's not how Dad raised me."

"I want you to keep out of trouble."

"I didn't do anything wrong!" he insisted, voice rising. "I can't watch people getting hurt and look away, not after - "

Gregor stopped, voice catching. His eyes burned, and the scars on his sternum ached even more intensely than before. He had to fight himself not to touch them; they were one of the few tangible, mortal reminders of everything that had happened to him. Otherwise, he thought sometimes, it could be almost easy to forget. Let the memories fade into a fairytale, half-told stories of pain and loss and unlikely heroes.

He smirked.

"Gregor," Grace said. He looked up and saw her crossed arms, the scars of pockmarks etched into her skin like craters on the shadow of the moon. "Gregor...I...I know this hasn't been easy for you. Being back up here, after everything that happened. I just want us to be able to move on, as a family. Together."

The word _together _lingered in the air, the echo of a promise.

His mother took a deep sigh while Gregor waited. "That's why your father and I decided that it's time to finally move down to Virginia."

At first none of it registered. The words were so quiet against the raging of his brain that it was hard for Gregor to let them sink in. He swayed a little, blinking.

"When?" he croaked.

"At the end of the school quarter, before Christmas. We want it to be as easy a transition as possible."

Two months. He had less than two months until they would leave. He had never lived anywhere besides Manhattan. Less than two months until they would disappear and forget about the terrible and wonderful world beneath their feet.

He'd been waiting for this news. Terrified, paranoid of the idea of leaving the city beneath the city where he had lost so much and given so many parts of himself. But Gregor never expected to feel, well, _relief_.

"Okay," he said. "Okay. Virginia."

"Are you okay?" his mother asked.

"Yeah," Gregor muttered. "I'm - fine. Can I go for a walk?" He suddenly felt like the walls of the room were swelling up against him, suffocating. Grace frowned, and he quickly said, "I'm not going to run away to the Underland;" - she flinched - "I just need to get some fresh air. Clear my head."

"Be back for dinner, at least."

"Gotcha."

He nearly ran out the door; it almost caught him on the heels in his stride. The elevator was still broken, so he ran down the stairs, ignoring the sharp pain that radiated out from his chest. It felt good to run, and he kept at it, sprinting down the cracked, debris-filled sidewalk for blocks. Just keep running.

New York City was on the cusp of autumn, and already it was growing dark and cold throughout the streets. It looked more like winter. Already it had snowed once, blanketing the roads and the trees for a few pure hours. Now it was just bitterly cold.

Gregor skidded to a stop. His chest heaved, cold air rushing painfully into his lungs. He rubbed his arms.

The entrance to Central Park loomed over him.

xxxxxx

Ari couldn't fly.

She stood on the rooftop of her apartment building, feet bare, gripping the slate tiles. Wind buffeted her hair and kissed her cheek.

_Focus. _

She had been researching this for months. Reading about physics: how planes were able to fly, how hang-gliders moved. Most of all, how birds flew.

It was a delicate subject. Nature had crafted their biology with a deft hand, constructing a skeleton that weighed next to nothing, keeled breastbones, a heart strong enough to pump oxygen through creatures designed for the air. Every species of bird was so distinct that if you tried to transplant one pair of wings to another, it would fail. They were living shrines to sacred geometry, a harmony of bound sinew and feathers that defied gravity.

Humans had never been meant to fly. They weighed so much. Every part of them - that paradoxical brain, cumbersome digestive system, strong legs - was unwitting ballast that kept them earthbound, not airborne.

And here she was, too human, not human enough.

Her wings at their full extent were nearly fifteen feet long. Years of constricting them had made it hard for her to hold them out that far, but still, Ari tried. They were massive, but eerily light as she carefully flexed them. She had done the math. If she could build up the right amount of muscle, practice harder - then, maybe. Maybe it could work.

_Focus. _

She flapped, once, tentatively, feeling every muscle. The wind's teeth made them ache; they were so sensitive, so unused to being in the open air. She grimaced, tensing her shoulders, feeling the bundled muscles in her keeled breastbone tighten.

This could be it.

She flapped again, harder, pushing the cold air down. Dust and debris swirled around her feet. She crouched down, trying to imagine her body as a coiled spring, hollow and weightless - _lighter than air. _

Airborne.

And, for a moment, it almost happened. Ari jumped into the air, her wings stroking down, and she felt lift. Harder. Her breath heaved in and out; her oversized heart sped up, pumping fast and loud.

And then she was in the air.

For just the barest moment, everything worked perfectly. She was flying; she was doing what she had always dreamed of doing, every night.

It was biology that failed her. The inherent cumbersome weight of her all-too-human body pulled her down again, shifting the balance enough that she tumbled through the air. Ari's wings snapped shut, and she clawed at the air with her fingers, trying to find purchase as she slid down the slanted roof.

It wasn't enough.

Ari slammed against the rooftop, her breath pushed out of her lungs, her mind screaming in wordless terror.

She fell.

* * *

Sorry for such a short chapter; I'm travelling to Istanbul soon and am very busy. Reviews are highly appreciated! :) Thank you.


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